Mute
by EmiLondon
Summary: After an event that happened during her spring break, Cat takes a vow of silence that makes everyone question what truly happened to her.
1. Chapter 1: Lullabies

_I haven't written a fanfiction in such a long time, but yesterday as I typed up a report for my Sign Language class at school about going an evening with out speaking, this idea dawned on me and I thought about it some at school and eventually everything was planned out and I had to write it. And so I quickly typed this up. __**Please note this doesn't follow every single storyline of Cat's life exactly you'll notice a few things not like the TV show.  
**_**  
**_This is also before Sam & Cat and all that stuff._

Hope you enjoy!

**Chapter One: Lullabies**

I don't ever recall a time when my mother didn't sing to me. As a child, my earliest memory was of her, towering over my tiny, pink-shaded crib that I had long since outgrown, singing the words to a lullaby that's lyrics were passed down in her family for centuries from mother to daughter. Now, seven years after the death of my mother, I can't even remember a single word from that lullaby, but just of how her voice crescendoed with every line.

My father and older brother have always told that I started singing just a few days after my second birthday, but I have always pictured myself coming into this world with song after song waiting to be sung by me and only me. My birth right, just like how that lullaby should have been.

But I will not sing anymore.

I will not let any of those birthright songs be sung.

_I will not._

It is just a side effect of the vow.

There are many side effects of the vow. No more talking on the phone late into the night, no more trying to call radio stations to win whatever dumb prize they were giving away, no more hellos, no more goodbyes.

All the side effects pile up, one on top of the other, making me not want to take the vow. Telling me not to take the vow. Telling me it is alright. Nothing bad will happen. But I must take it. I have to take it.

No more laughter.

No more craziness.

No more stories about my brother.

No more acting on the stage in front of everybody.

But I have to take it.

_I have to take it._

_I have to take it._

It is the only way.

Taking it is the only way to protect them.

I tried to smile at myself in a nearby mirror, hanging by one nail on the bathroom wall. It was crooked, cracked, dirty, looking like it was about to fall. Just like me, I thought. I looked at my reflection for as long as I could, barely able to make out my facial expressions behind the thick layer of muck.

"Forever," I told myself. Those were my last words. My very last words.

xXxXxXxXx

We returned to school on April 7th. The first day after spring break. No one knew yet. No one knew about the vow. I tried to avoid everybody at first. They all spent the break together, as if we didn't spend enough time with each other already, in San Diego. They messaged me pictures of them at the beach, at the zoo, posing in front of a killer whale. The message attached was always the same. Wish you were here. I was asked to go. I was begged to go.

I didn't go.

I wish I did.

I wish I could turn back time, tell them I wouldn't miss it for the world, and stay up late packing my bikini for a week of nothing.

But it is too late.

I showed up late to first period. Sikowitz's class. I took a seat in the empty chair in the back of the class, hiding in the back with all the kids that never spoke unless spoken too. Weeks ago, I didn't understand them. Talking was everything to me But now it isn't. Now I am one of them.

Sikowitz rambled on about stage lefts and right, getting so into his lecture (that no one seemed to be listening to, except me of course, all I can do until the day that I die is listen) that it took him a full ten minutes to notice that I was in class. He smiled at motioned me up to the front of the stage. "Catarina!" he said too loudly, "Come show us where upstage is."

I didn't want to go up. My thoughts yelled at me to stay still, don't move. Yet my legs propelled me to stand up and walk to where Sikowitz pointed. I passed my usual seat, in between Tori and Jade. It was empty. Both girls looked at me, wondering why I wasn't sandwiched between them, sharing them the details of how I spent my break. I smiled at them and continued walking until I stood in the exact spot to where upstage was.

"Very good," I heard Sikowitz utter, "Now what are the parts of upstage?"

My eyes widened. I wanted to speak. Yet I couldn't. I can't.

I just pointed.

"And what are they called."

There's a whiteboard behind me, stocked with a rainbow of markers. I turn around and grab a pink one-my favorite color-and write down in my swirly handwriting. _Can't speak._

Everyone looked at me. They were confused. They probably assumed I had a throat problem, like last year. I used my phone to communicate. I wish I could use that now, but it's cheating. It's still talking. There is no talking.

I erased the _'Can't speak_' and replaced it with another set of words, this time struggling to include them all on the whiteboard.

_Vow of silence. Can't speak. Never speak._

* * *

So how was that? Please tell me your honest opinion on it. I haven't written like this in so long I know I am going to have so much faults, so any feedback, postitive or negative would be very very helpful to me. Thank you for reading the first chapter. ~Emi


	2. Chapter 2: Attacks

I sat down to start the second chapter not really knowing where it was going and this just happened in practically one sitting. Hope you enjoy! -Emi

**Chapter Two: Attacks**

My father signed me up for counseling as soon as he learned I quit speaking. Counseling was the only way he knew how to fix things, growing up with my brother the way he is. I've been to counseling kinds, mixed in with my childhood like a normal girl went to ballet class. Family counseling, interventions, one-on-one. They were all for my brother. How is Frankie doing? Frankie we are worried about you. How was I dealing with most of my father's attention on him?

My brother was diagnosed with ADHD as a child, and that eventually turned into anxiety, panic attacks depression, OCD. There were many that I have since lost track. Ever since the death of my mother, my father just likes to put names to everything Frankie had, even if they weren't there. If doctors said he was fine, my father found another one to properly diagnose him.

This counseling session was different. It wasn't about my was all about me.

I took a notebook along with me. Not to communicate. To draw.

The counselor was a middle-age women named Dr. Freeman with pale skin and red, tangly hair. I tried to count the freckles on her face, but stopped after 26 when I realized I was staring. Staring is rude.

I looked down at my notebook and started to sketch a narwhale.

"So Cat, I am told you have taken a code of silence."  
I don't say anything. I don't respond My eyes flicker up to the clock above Dr. Freeman's head. 55 minutes to go.

I finish my picture of a narwhale. I wish I had brought crayons; I would make the narwhale purple.

Drawing isn't a talent I possess. The picture looks likes it was drawn by a fourth grader. The body is too circular, to flat. The horn poking from its head is poking out to far, like it's about to stab someone.

Stab someone…

_Stab someone…_

_Stab someone..._

I freeze and stare at the horn some more. My mind is racing. Horns can hurt people. No one needs to get hurt. The pencil in my hand starts crossing it out, until a giant X forms thicker than my fingers. Then I rips the paper out of the notebook and crumples it into a ball, tossing it into a nearby garbage can. My thoughts pound with the same two words. Horn. Stab. Horn, Stab.

The next page I start a picture of a manatee. Similar to a narwhale, but no horns.

Dr. Freeman watches all this and starts jotting things down on her clipboard. There's a sticker on the back of her clipboard. It says "If opportunity doesn't knock, build a door." The sticker is so unprofessional. It bugs me.

"What was that picture of Cat?" she asks. She doesn't expect a response, she doesn't get one. All she gets is the faint sound of pencil pressing on paper. The clock ticks and ticks and ticks. 45 minutes. Fifteen minutes came and went quickly.

I finish my manatee, but this time I don't take the time to look at the final product. I move on. This time a castle with a princess standing in the top tower. I put all my focus on this one picture. Time moves by faster than I know it. Soon only 20 minutes remain.

"Do you want to try to draw what happened to you?" Dr. Freeman's voice fades in and out every few minutes. It's the first question she has asked in a while I truly understand. I don't want this therapy session to be a waste, so I move on to the next page and draw a circle within a circle within a circle within a circle. So many circles. When I show it to her, that is all Dr. Freeman sees. Lots and lots of circles. She must think I am crazy, but why else would I be here?

Yet it isn't a never-ending chain of circles. It's much more than that. It's a target. But I won't tell her that. She doesn't need to know.

I hand her the paper before I can actually look at what I drew. She takes the hint and puts it underneath the clipboard's clip. She stares at it for awhile before declaring the session over. I smile and leave, my father should be waiting for me just outside the door.

Let her think I am crazy. I don't care.

* * *

"Cat! I am so glad you made it." Tori shouted (when you are silent, you notice how loud people really are) as I walked through their front door. I wave at her as a reply back and walked over to where Beck was and sat next to him.

They texted me during the counseling session, but I didn't see it until I was in the car with my father, on my way back home. At a red light, I showed him the text and he changed his route to the direction of Tori's house.

This would be the first time since the vow that the entire gang would be together. They were all here, splattered across the room. I had been avoiding them all week, not quite sure how they would handle everything. The only reason I came was because I missed them. Yet, now that I was here, it was like nothing happened.

The TV was changed to the news. A report about a missing person-a boy by the name of Aden Serna-was being played. I grabbed the remote from next to me on the couch cushion and changed the channel. Beck looked at me, his eyes asking me why I did that. He loved to watch the news, everyone knew that. I just shrugged.

"Have you heard that, Aden's missing." Beck announced, referring to the news report that was just on the television. Everyone's head turned towards him, except mine. I stared straight at the TV. I had changed the channel to Jeopardy. Someone just found the daily double. "Said he walking back from his Grandmother's house down the street and just vanished."

"He probably OD'ed somewhere. They'll find him dead in a dumpster. Didn't he get kicked out for possession of something?" Jade asked this. She sat on the other side of Beck, her head on his shoulder.

"Cocaine, I believe." Andre replied, "Or was it Meth? Who even knows the difference now and days."

"Too bad too," Tori piped in, "He was really talented. He could play any instrument he picked up. Plus he had that job at that radio station. He really had a future ahead of him."

I barely knew Aden Serna. My relationship with him was never more than an occasional "hello" in the hallways. That is before he got expelled (and arrested) from Hollywood Arts for possession of illegal substances. He was spending time in juvie. Should have stayed in there too, nothing bad would have happened to him if he stayed in there.

"Why are we even talking about him?" Robby looked at me, as if to say, except for you. I hated listening to talk of talking. "We all know he's history. Let's play some cards or something."

Cards was easier than I was expecting it to be. We played a card game Andre made up long ago, and while I waited for my turn, I counted the numbers of the cards in my head. 3 of spades. 3 of hearts. 5 of spades. 6 of diamonds. Queen of diamonds. Ace of spades. No clubs.

I listed them again.

3. 3. 5. 6. Queen. Ace.

My turn was up. I had to lay down a card larger a seven. I placed down my queen. Draw a card. Six of diamonds. Still no clubs.

Clubs.

Clubs.

Clubs.

Lights flashed in my brain, the memory of that night. I couldn't think of that night. I tried to stop it, replace it with a different memory, of that lullaby my mother used to sing to me, but nothing happened. Still lights.

I wanted to scream.

It's just a card game. It's just a card game. It's just a card game. I repeated and repeated and repeated. To calm myself down. My chest hurt, my hands felt sweaty, my heart raced and raced, pounding as hard as it could. I tried to stay upright, but couldn't. My balance had disappeared so fast it was if it never had existed. My chair fell sideways, and I found myself curling up on the floor. I wanted to die. I wanted to scream out, but didn't.. Even under such circumstances, my body refused to let my throat break the vow.

I heard the sounds of chairs scratching the floor, my name being called out at once by everyone in the room. Someone was kneeling next to me, stroking my head, trying to calm me. I couldn't see who it was, but I assumed Tori.

The lights kept flashing in my head. The room was so dizzy. I tried to focus on one thing, but everything spun.

"Panic attack, I've had them before let me handle this," I heard Jade yell, her voice next to my right ear. It was her who was stroking my hair, not Tori. "Do you need anything Cat."

I think I managed to shake my head no, because she continued speaking, "Okay, can you now focus on your breathing. In and out. Yes, just like that. This isn't going to last that long. It's almost over."

I concentrate on my breathing, like Jade said. In and out. In and out. It blocks out the flashing lights.

After a few minutes or hours of days, everything feels alright. I see Jade next to me. She's asking if I am okay. I want to tell her I am not. I want to tell her about everything that was going on in my mind.

I don't though. I instead force a smile and give her a thumbs up.

* * *

_So I know absolutely nothing about panic attacks, so yeah thank you Google. I hope I was able to portray them correctly. They sound like such a horrible thing to have to go throw. If you are one of the million people suffering from panic attacks please know you aren't alone and don't let them stop you from living your life. _

_Please tell me what you think. Any feedback, positive or negative is appreciated. _


End file.
